Case of the Purloined Purple Shirt
by cactusnell
Summary: Molly takes to thievery!


Dr. Molly Hooper trudged up the staircase at 221B Baker street carrying a cooler full of borrowed body parts. Sherlock Holmes had indicated that he needed these "as soon as possible, or sooner!" Naturally, Molly, forever accommodating, had rushed over to make the delivery only to find that Sherlock was not at home. She let herself in with the key he had provided her for just such occasions, Mrs. Hudson being no longer willing to accept delivery of partial human remains. Some people were so squeamish!

Molly deposited the items in Sherlock's refrigerator, next to the milk and some greenish substance which she couldn't quite identify as very old food or slightly newer remains. She then plopped herself down on the couch, trying to decide whether to wait for him, or simply leave. Molly didn't really want to miss an opportunity to see Sherlock, but she did have other things to do. It was then that she noticed his purple shirt discarded next to her on the couch cushion. THE purple shirt. The one that set off his beautiful blue eyes to perfection, and showcased the alabaster skin of his elegant neck. The one that he would leave unbuttoned at the top, one, two, or even three buttons, depending on the size of the favor he was asking of her. Three buttons never failed. She may well have provided body parts from living donors if he ever went so far as four buttons! Molly picked up the shirt and put it to her nose. It smelled of Sherlock. His cologne, somewhat cinnamon and musky, cigarettes, and something entirely Sherlock. Without completely considering the situation, she shoved the shirt into her bag and quickly left the flat.

That evening, Molly arrived home after a long and exhausting day. She had performed four autopsies, worked on a report for a forensics convention she was due to attend, and completed what seemed like a mountain of paperwork. She made a quick job of the Indian takeaway dinner she had picked up on the way home, and, as it was already past nine o'clock, decided to forego telly for the evening. She would take a relaxing bath and head to bed early. As she headed to the bathroom she impulsively reached into her purse and removed the purple shirt, deciding, with a slight tinge of guilt, that she would sleep in it this evening. She would much prefer to have the real thing wrapped around her in the night, but knew she would have to settle for the shirt.

Molly stepped out of the tub a good time later, and dried herself. It took her quite a while to use a blow dryer on her long thick hair, but she knew if she didn't she would have a tangled mess to deal with in the morning. Finally, she slipped into the shirt. It hung to just above her knees, with her much shorter arms lost in its sleeves. She buttoned it up almost to the top, leaving a single button undone. After rolling up the sleeves, she wrapped her arms around herself and luxuriated in its softness and its scent. She was going to sleep peacefully this night!

Molly made her way to her bedroom, and paused to look at herself in the full length mirror on her closet door. She was lost in her own thoughts when she heard a deep baritone voice coming from the doorway. "It looks good on you, Dr. Hooper."

Molly dropped her chin to her chest as she felt the flush of embarrassment and humiliation rise from her neck to the top of her ears. She knew Sherlock could pick her lock easily. He had done so many times. She should have expected something like this. He would of course know his shirt was missing, and, being Sherlock Holmes, world's only consulting detective, would also figure out who had taken it. Also, being Sherlock Holmes, arrogant bastard and all-around git, it would not occur to him to spare her feelings. No, not Sherlock! He would have to come here to smirk at her in person.

"I'm going to need that shirt back," Sherlock said from a considerably diminished distance. Molly lifted her head and tried to look nonchalant. She turned to face him, and was surprised to see that he was not, in fact, smirking but smiling in a rather genuine way. His eyes even twinkled, if she could believe that. "Give me a minute to change, Sherlock," Molly replied shakily.

"I'm afraid not, Dr, Hooper. I need that particular shirt off you as soon as possible!" He stepped closer and reached for the top button, then the next. By the time he got to the third Molly was a complete mess. Sherlock reached his arms around her waist and pulled her as close as humanly possible. He started kissing her neck and collarbone, exposed by the undone buttons. When he finally worked his way up to her lips Molly let out a soft sigh of surrender, and lifted her arms to encircle his neck.

"Don't worry, Molly, you won't need the shirt. I'll keep you warm tonight."

As he guided her gently backward toward her bed, Molly couldn't help but wish that she had taken to a life of crime ages ago!


End file.
